and then the walls came falling down
by alltimealexandria
Summary: So I guess I'm never getting out of Lima, huh? For the first time in my life, I'm okay with that.
1. Five Hours After

**Author's Note: **I started writing this and got a little carried away, so it's kind of long. I plan for it to be five parts - five hours after, five days after, five weeks after, five months after, and five years after. And all of the chapters are probably going to be 5000+ words. Rated T for suicide and language. I hope you like it! Sorry if the formatting is off; Document Manager was being really annoying. All of the closings above 'Later' are supposed to be strikeout, and there were some centering issues. I hope it looks okay; if not, just imagine. This is a little bit AU because Lauren isn't in the club; I don't think I can write her yet because we've seen so little of her. Other than that, it's canon up to A Very Glee Christmas.

**Pairings: **are all over the place. It's mostly going to be an angsty ensemble friendship fic. I'll probably add some Puckleberry (I can't help it).

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Glee, any of the songs I use, or any of the real world references I might make.

* * *

**and then the walls came falling down**

**

* * *

**

_To whoever's reading this:_

_Look, I'm not the kind of fucking pussy that writes down my feelings, all right? I don't roll that way. But I don't know… this seemed ceremonious or something (Berry word). Like, everyone who does this writes a fucking letter, right? Yeah. So. I thought I kind of owed you all a letter or something. Don't bother sitting down – this won't take long. Like I said, I'm no pussy. I'm not going to go on and on and try to get you to understand, because you fucking _won't. _Hell, I don't think I even understand, you know?_

_Okay. So here goes. Bye, I guess. Kind of a belated bye, because probably, by the time you read this, I'll be dead. And I'm glad about that. You probably should be too. Whoever the hell you are, I probably wasn't the greatest person ever to you. I wasn't the greatest person ever to anyone, really. God, I was a jackass. And that sort of leads up to the point of this letter: I wanted to say that if anyone blames themselves for this, fuck you. Because I'm not fucking crazy, I know that this is one-hundred percent me. No one forced me to swallow a whole bottle of ibuprofen (yeah, I'm taking the pussy way out. Sorry. Never liked guns). This is all me. I'm the one who feels like shit, and it's no one's fault but mine, okay? And by doing this, I'm mostly trying to help other people from feeling like shit, because I kind of have a habit of hurting people. So don't feel sad or anything. Get over it because, once you think about it, what is there to move on from? This is better._

_Breaking point? I know you're all gonna ask that. I don't think I had a breaking point. I don't think I ever broke. I just wasn't whole to begin with. Not to sound fucking poetic or anything. But you know what I mean. Hey Mom? Forget about me. I was always the worst thing to happen to you. Sarah, I'm sorry that things turned out this way. I know you cared. That was the problem. You shouldn't care about me. Quinn, tell Beth, if you ever see her, that I loved her. I loved her too fucking much. I don't think I loved you, Quinn, just Beth. I'm sorry. You're better off with someone else anyway. Whoever reads this, tell Berry that I'm sorry for all the shit I put her through, and beat the shit out of anyone who hurts her again, okay? 'Cause I'm not exactly there to punch those fuckers in the face anymore, and I do care about her. So tell the glee club to stop fucking bullying her all of the time, all right? I don't want her to end up like me. Tell Finn I'm sorry too. He knows. I've given him a thousand apologies before, just make sure he remembers them. Tell San I'll miss the hell out of her, because I think she was probably my best friend. I hurt a fucking ton of people while I was here, there's not enough room to apologize to all of them, but I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry._

_So I guess I'm never getting out of Lima, huh? For the first time in my life, I'm okay with that._

_Sincerely__  
__From__  
__Love__  
__Later,_

_Noah_

_

* * *

_

When Tina hands her the letter, Rachel grabs it with shaking hands and reads it all the way through without really understanding any of it, except for one thing:

He signed his name as Noah.

* * *

_**Five Hours After**_

_**

* * *

**_

The job falls on Will to tell them.

He's roaming the hallways as usual, trying to figure out a powerful, emotional song for the glee club to sing at regionals and expecting Sue to walk up to him at any moment and criticize something about him, probably his hair. Same old, same old. He's debating between _Hey Jude _and _I Don't Want to Miss a Thing _when, speak of the devil, a glowering demon in a track suit makes her way over to him, pushing innocent bystanders out of the way and into the lockers. Will is about to tell her that she needs to behave herself, but then he looks into her eyes and stops; instead of the fire that usually incinerates her pupils whenever she shoots an insult in his direction, her eyes are black, and he knows what that means. It's the same look she has whenever she's talking about her sister, the look that means that the world is a nasty, tough place and she knows it. When Sue has this expression on her face, it means that things are serious, and that's so much worse than a knock at his gelling skills.

"William," Sue says, nodding at him somberly. "You should go talk to Figgins."

"Why –"

"Just go!" she barks before turning and stomping away. Will stands there a moment, dumbfounded, and then snaps back to reality and strides down the hallway towards the principal's office.

As he walks, he wonders what could be going on that would make Sue so emotional – well, as emotional as Sue ever is, anyway. Maybe something happened to her sister? He dismisses the idea instantly – she wouldn't have him go down to the principal's office for that. Maybe one of his students was hurt? When he thinks that, he starts jogging down the hallway, ignoring the weird looks the high schoolers are giving him. He's not sure what he'd do without his kids.

Will pushes open the glass door and is immediately struck by how grim Figgins looks. "Sit, William," the principal orders, folding his hands and placing them on the desk. Will pulls out a chair.

"Are you going to tell me what this is about?" he asks. "Because Sue told me to come here, and I was just wondering –"

"William," Figgins cuts in. There's a brief hesitation before he says, agonizingly slowly, "Did you notice anything… bothering Noah Puckerman?"

Will pauses to think about it, and then his blood runs cold. "J-just… just that one time in here, when he yelled at us. I just thought it was typical teenage behavior." His eyes lock with Figgins'. "Why?"

Figgins shifts in his chair and stares at his desk. "He tried to kill himself this morning."

And, just like that, Will freezes.

His first reaction stems from his protective side – he needs to stop the kids from feeling what he's feeling right now, he needs to get to Puck and help him, _he needs to he needs to he needs to –_ but then, all of a sudden, he stops panicking about everyone else and just feels, well, _angry_. That Puck would do this to them. After all that Puck's done in the past, that he'd even think about hurting them again. He wants to scream.

(And, somewhere inside him, he's kind of glad that it's Puck instead of someone else.)

"-have to tell them about this," Figgins is saying when Will tunes in again. "Be gentle, William. They're only children."

"Yeah, well, so was Puck." Something occurs to him then. "Wait a minute – you said _tried_?"

"He's in a coma right now. They're unsure whether he will wake up or not."

Will stops for a moment, to process this. "Well. I guess that's better than the alternative."

Figgins nods vigorously. "Glee club is about to start, William. You had better hurry to the choir room – they're going to want to hear this from you."

He lets out a contemptuous snort. "They're not going to want to hear this at _all_." But he's out the door without another word.

* * *

Santana walks into glee club, talking and laughing with Brittany. As the rest of the kids file in, she glances up; Puck isn't there. She notices right away because she's become so attuned to the mohawked boy, to her best friend, that she knows it's him just by the sound of his breath. Well, he isn't breathing in this room right now. He's not here. She shrugs it off as another one of those Puck-cuts-class days (she kind of wishes he had asked her to join) and takes a seat beside Brittany, mood turning stormy as Artie wheels up beside the blonde cheerleader.

Five minutes pass, and everyone in glee club is chatting away, paying no attention to the absence of their teacher. Because she doesn't exactly want to watch Brittany and Artie make out beside her, Santana focuses her gaze on the door. It's strange that Schue isn't here yet. He's usually on time and prepared.

But when Schue finally walks in – ten minutes after glee is supposed to start – his hair is disheveled and he's red-eyed, and he walks too fast, giving off an aura of extreme distraction and pain. Santana rolls her eyes – how many times are he and that redhead counselor going to break up? – and faces front. Schue nervously shuffles his papers and clears his throat, and Rachel shushes everyone.

"Guys –" Schue says, then seems to think better of his words. Santana and the rest of the glee club watch as a battle rages on inside the teacher's head. At last, he opens his mouth again. "Guys, I have something to tell you, and – well – you're not going to like it."

A collective groan rises up, almost like song. "Is this about regionals?" Rachel asked, suddenly horrified. Schue laughs bitterly and shakes his head. He looks so _tired, _so _scared_… Santana's stomach clenches. What if something's actually going on? She doesn't think she could handle it if she didn't have glee club after school. Glee means extra time with Brittany, glee means self-expression, glee means – as much as she hates to say it – that she actually feels happy when she gets home from school, instead of empty, the way she used to feel. But she can't put any of this into words (reputation and temptation control her), so she just stays quiet and side-glances at the blank expression on her best friend's face.

"No, no, nothing like that…" Schue grins, but it's a pained smirk. Santana recognizes it instantly – it's the expression that your face makes when your emotions are all topsy-turvy, when you don't know what to think anymore, when you hurt so bad that it can only come out in inappropriate laughter and smiles. The other glee kids look somewhat disturbed. Their teacher runs a hand through his hair and says, "I – I just don't know how to say this, guys."

"Get to it, Mr. Schue," Mercedes complains.

Artie cuts in, "Yeah, just say it."

Schue sighs. "Guys, Puck – Puck's in the hospital. He tried to kill himself today."

* * *

There's shocked silence.

Brittany looks to her left, and then her right, confused. Artie appears betrayed, and his hand has left hers to hang limply at his side. Santana is furious; Brittany subconsciously scoots closer to her boyfriend. But she can see the tears in Santana's eyes, and she becomes even more confused; San _never _cries. Not for real. Sometimes she does to get what she wants, but the last time Brittany saw San cry like this was when they were twelve. She doesn't remember why, she just remembers Santana's sobbing, and the way they held hands and said nothing for three hours.

"Is he okay?" Finn asks. Brittany glances over and it's like she's seeing Finn for the first time. He's gripping the chair in front of him, knuckles white, and he looks like he understands but he doesn't want to. He looks like he needs to cry but he doesn't want to.

"He's in a coma," Mr. Schue says, voice barely creeping above a whisper.

Brittany doesn't get why everyone in the room is so freaked out. She had a grandfather who was in a coma once. He slept for a couple of months and then he woke up. She guesses that maybe they'll just miss Puck while he's sleeping, but sleeping makes people feel better, so it's a good thing, really. Brittany leans over and tries to tell Santana this, but the expression on her friend's face stops her.

Rachel runs out of the room (no one's really surprised) and no one speaks. They just sit there. Brittany shifts nervously, wishing someone would just break the silence so they could sing. She likes singing. Singing makes her feel happy inside. Everyone around her just looks so _sad_… singing would make it better. She knows it.

* * *

_And oh God _she wasn't expecting this, she definitely wasn't expecting _this_, and it hits her like a punch to the stomach, and it hurts worse than anything else she's ever experienced. The concussions and sprained ankles and ex-boyfriends and hell, giving birth, they can't ever compare to _this_.

Sam tries to hug her but she shakes him off because she really can't stand to look at him right now. The closeness of anyone else just reminds her – this is _her _fault. If she hadn't gotten rid of Puck the second she saw Sam, if she hadn't given Beth away, if she'd even talked to him once or twice after it happened – things would be different now. She knows it. This is her fault.

Quinn puts her hand on her stomach, like she always does when she feels like… like… _don't think about that _and is shocked beyond words when she only feels empty inside. It's always that way. Always. And it still surprises her that she doesn't feel the flutter of kicks anymore, the stretched skin that meant the baby that had become so familiar to her, the baby this boy – this _man _– had given to her. Now he might be dying, and the baby is gone, and she's never felt so alone her whole life.

So when she's the second to leave the room, walking instead of running, no one's really surprised either. Because Quinn had a connection to Puck, a living, breathing connection. And somehow, that made them _family._

Quinn knows that she's lost the only family she ever actually had a chance to have.

* * *

Rachel skids to a stop in front of his locker and breaks into tears, so many tears. She's not the type to do anything halfway. All or nothing. Grief is included in that.

(_Because _damn_, she thinks maybe she'd been in love with him._)

She unintentionally screams a little and starts running her hands through her hair, hitting lockers, anything – her hands need to move. She needs to move. She can't just stand here when something so terrible is happening, she has to _move_ but she has no idea what to do. Her knees give out and she falls against the lockers, hugging her legs to her chest.

A panic attack. That's what this is. A panic attack. She's read about them before, and she knows that she's having one. Her lungs aren't taking in any air, she's hyperventilating, her chest hurts, she doesn't feel _real_ – not anymore. He was always the one to keep her tethered to reality, and without him, she's floating. Like one of those balloons that people let go of and then they just drift away, becoming nothing but a distant memory and a speck in the sky.

She digs out her phone and punches in speed-dial four – Kurt. After voicemail, her dad, and her daddy, respectively. Her sobs keep coming as the phone rings, and she tries to quell them, but her efforts are futile. When Kurt picks up the phone, he gasps. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"K-K-Kurt," Rachel stammers. "I – I just needed to talk to you."

"Why?" She can almost hear his frown over the phone. "Do I need to have a talk with Finn when I come home for the weekend?"

It's so far from the truth that she laughs, almost in hysterics in a matter of seconds. "No, of course not, it isn't about him. But I'm ecstatic that you're c-coming home… I - I need you, we need you..."

"You're scaring me, diva. What's going on?"

"It's just… It's just…" She starts to laugh harder. "Puck attempted suicide today."

Rachel hears a _clang _as Kurt's Droid hits the ground, and waits for him to pick it up. "Wh-_what_?" he exclaims. "Elaborate. _Now._"

"I don't know," she whispers. "He's in a coma. Mr. Schue said. But I don't understand _why._"

There's an awkward pause before Kurt finally says, "I do. I think. You get to a point eventually where you know there's only a few ways out. Someone like Puck would be much too proud to confess that he needed help. So this might have been his only remaining escape."

"Oh, Kurt…" Rachel breathes. "Is that why you left?"

"Yes," Kurt says simply, and even though Rachel thought her heart couldn't break anymore, it has.

Footsteps approach down the hallway. "I have to go," Rachel says. "I'm sorry. Someone's coming."

"See you soon," Kurt murmurs before hanging up.

* * *

Artie doesn't know what to do with himself.

Mr. Schue had told them that they could all leave, that practice was canceled today. It was obvious that the teacher was agonizing over what he could have done to prevent this – they all were. But Artie wanted to scream that if they had only opened their eyes, they would have seen that something was off about Puck. Artie – being the kind of person who keeps making mistakes – had never done anything about it. He had assumed that his friend (because, as inconceivable as it used to be, that's what they are – were: friends) would get over it eventually, once things calmed down a little bit and Beth was nothing more than just another teenage mistake.

(That's what this is, right? Not getting help for Puck? That's one big fucking teenage mistake.)

So Artie rams his wheelchair into the wall of the choir room repeatedly. Everyone else has left already, some in tears, others with a steely resolve that he can only be jealous of. It's not the first time that he's wished to be as badass as Puck, but it's the most important time. Being a badass would definitely help in this situation. Instead, he's just striking the wall again and again, just like he always does when he doesn't know what to do.

Some people run a mile. Some people punch a pillow. Well, when Artie has so much anger inside of him that he wants to explode, he acts like a human battering ram. And he does, he has _so much anger _that he just doesn't know what to do with it all. He's angry at the others, angry at himself, angry at society, angry at the world.

Most of all, he's angry at Puck.

What kind of person just _quits _like that, just _gives up _instead of trying to push through? How could he have been so selfish to just leave everyone else behind because of his own problems? He had to have known the pain that he would be causing them. What kind of person would even think of hurting everyone he loved?

How could he have believed that things would never get better? Why didn't he ask for help? Questions rage through Artie's mind, and it makes him sick that he might never get the answers for them. Which is also Puck's fault.

God, and here everyone was, thinking that Puck had changed. They were wrong, Artie knows. They were so beyond wrong that it isn't even funny. Puck used to throw slushies at Rachel and throw Kurt into the dumpsters and lock Artie in the porta-potties. Puck used to laugh at them, every single one of them, and make their lives into one big living hell. He was a bully in the truest sense of the word. He thrived off of others' pain. He was the worst person any of them had ever met. But then he had to go and join glee, stop throwing slushies, get in over his head and come out of it as the kind of person who would defend any member of the club to death. He was so different and he seemed to genuinely regret what he'd done.

And then he had to go and hurt them in the worst way any of them could ever have been hurt just by _fucking killing himself._

The last time Artie felt this bad was the car accident. The physical pain, the anxiety, and the dread for the future left him a complete mess. He thinks that this is sort of like the car accident – the same, crippling feeling, like someone just hit him head-on; the flames and fear that went up everywhere; and the betrayal, _oh_ the betrayal, but this time, he hasn't been betrayed by his body. The traitor here is Puck.

That coward. That _fucking coward. _He had to go and hurt everyone else just because he was in pain. Well, Artie's in pain, too. And you don't see him swallowing a bottle of pills or a bullet.

And then he starts crying, and he's not sure who it's for. It's not for Puck. He _hates _Puck. It's not for himself or the other glee club members or anyone, really. He loses his grip and his hands slide off of the wheels, leaving him with his head and chair pressed against the wall, tears tumbling onto his suspenders.

He's crying because, honestly, he's always been more badass than Noah Puckerman.

* * *

Sam isn't really sure how to be affected by this.

He wasn't close to Puck, not at all. The only thing they have in common is Quinn, and that's hardly a thing that they could have talked about. The two barely spoke, and Sam is still new to the glee club – everyone else knew him a lot better. So it doesn't feel right to act over-the-top sad, not when Finn's across the parking lot trying to take it like a man and Quinn is nowhere to be found. Mercedes is bawling her eyes out and Tina has reverted to stuttering and he doesn't have the _right _to a reaction, he just doesn't. He didn't know Puck. He didn't really care about Puck.

But.

Sam knows what it's like, to look in the mirror every morning and think _you're not good enough _and _you deserve to die. _He knows what it's like to actually want to die, when everything's too hard, when he gets so hungry that he eats the whole refrigerator and then pukes it back up. He knows what it's like to completely, one-hundred-percent hate yourself.

And that's kind of what gets him. Because this could have _been_ him, just as easily. He wonders, suddenly, how the others would have felt if the tables had been turned.

So instead of sad, Sam's grateful; because of Puck, Sam will never even consider killing himself again.

* * *

Tina can't believe it.

Wasn't he supposed to be the strong one of the group, the one who could get through anything? She's talked to Puck a few times, mainly because of glee, and because Mike and Puck are (were? Oh, screw it – she's not going to be that person, the one from all the suicide stories, who stresses over past and present tense) good friends. Puck was always just there. They weren't best friends or anything (she doesn't even think they were friends – she doesn't have many of those) but she always admired him. Well, after the bullying stage, anyway. He had gone through so much. She never agreed with the way that the others blamed him for babygate; it was every bit as much Quinn's fault as it was his, and he should have had a say in the baby's future. Tina looked up to Puck for the way that he stayed strong, even as he gave up his baby, even as he watched the girl he loved fall for someone else. It was amazing how he came back from juvie almost unaffected – she used to think that, anyway.

If nothing else, it's just a reminder, isn't it, that behind every smile is a story, and it isn't always a story that you want to hear.

She remembers one time, last year, when she had been sitting by the lockers, head in her hands, after glee practice. It was right after their bake sale, so she was still in the wheelchair, and she wasn't exactly _crying _or anything, she only felt like it. Her best friend had just rejected her after learning that she'd been faking a stutter for years. At that time, it felt like the biggest tragedy that ever could happen to her, and she was slowly breaking inside. It wasn't anything she could explain – she just _hurt_, everywhere. And she knew she had a pretty good life – that made it worse. She felt so guilty for feeling this way, and seeing Artie laughing with his (their) friends during rehearsal made it so much worse.

The _squeak _of wheels made her lift her head up, and she saw a mohawk before anything else. "You okay?" Puck asked, seeming kind of uncomfortable. "I mean, I'm not good with feelings and all, but, no offense, you look like shit right now."

Tina laughed and rubbed her eyes. "H-how… how could I take that offensively?"

He smirked. "So… you gonna tell me what's wrong?"

"I fake my stutter," she spilt rapidly. Puck's eyebrows lifted, but he didn't give any other indication of surprise. "Just – just stupid reasons. The point is, I told Artie yesterday. And I think that I might have lost the only friend I have." Tina half-smiled. "I don't know why I'm telling you this. I don't think we've even had a conversation before…"

"Sure we have. I asked if I could use your chains to strangle Finn once. You said no."

She giggled. "Well, I didn't want you to ruin his voice. We need him for sectionals."

Puck rolled his eyes and moved to wheel away. "I doubt that," he said. "But look, don't go around thinking you're friendless. You're pretty cool. Just show it." And with that, he left, leaving Tina feeling a lot better about herself.

She suddenly wonders where that boy went. The one who she was always jealous of, because he oozed confidence, while she hid behind a pretend condition. The one who was great at making other people cry but, sometimes, could be good at making people laugh.

And she wonders if he only just left, or if he left a long time ago and she didn't notice it.

* * *

"I have to go, I have to go _now_," Kurt keeps saying. He's shoving clothes into a suitcase and talking to Blaine, but he's obviously just talking to himself and using his boyfriend as an excuse to not sound crazy.

"Hold up. What the hell is going _on, _Kurt? You're not telling me anything," Blaine complains. Kurt continues to repeat his frantic statements as he adds a pair of white skinny jeans to his bag. Sighing, Blaine strides over and grabs onto Kurt's wrist, pulling him away from his packing. A furious expression forms on Kurt's face; he tries to shake Blaine off, but his grip is strong.

"Look, you just put in a red blazer and a green V-neck. That's not the Kurt I know. Now tell me. What's going on? Is everything okay with your family?"

Kurt shakes his head, eyes starting to swim with tears. "No… I mean, yes. They're okay. But everything's not okay, Blaine… it's just not." He grabs onto his boyfriend's shirt and starts to sob into it. Blaine awkwardly pats him on the back (_what the hell is going on?_).

"Kurt, what happened?" Blaine begs. He _hates _seeing Kurt like this. Tears aren't his strong suit; he doesn't deal well with crying boys. Kurt is no exception, but there's something about him that, whenever Kurt seems less than happy, makes Blaine feel like he's watching one of those commercials with the abused animals on it. It's his eyes, Blaine thinks. They get really wide and shiny, and then the tears start falling and Blaine gets flashbacks of puppies in casts and cat close-ups. That makes it so much worse than regular boys crying, because Blaine loves animals.

"Blaine, it's… well, one of my fellow glee club members. From McKinley. Puck, the strong, hunky one? He… God, he tried to kill himself." Blaine is surprised at first by how coherent his boyfriend is when he cries, but then the reality of his words starts to sink in, and he pulls away.

"God, Kurt… wait. Wasn't this the one who –"

"Threw me in dumpsters? Yes. But he and the rest of the glee guys defended my honor before, Blaine. I can forgive, and I can't forget that. He was my brother's best friend… he was something more than that to _my _best friend… I just have to be with them right now, I have to go, I have to go _now_…" And, just like that, Kurt is back to muttering his repeated sentences under his breath and throwing clothes everywhere. Blaine stands back and stares at him and thinks that, maybe, his boyfriend is a much better person than he ever could have imagined.

* * *

When Quinn sees Rachel, she launches herself into the brunette's arms without even thinking about it.

Rachel stands completely still, arms at her sides, either too surprised or too unwilling to return the hug. "What are you doing, Quinn?" she asks softly.

Quinn pulls away and leans against the lockers, ridges digging into her back. She likes the sensation of pain (_that's always been the problem, hasn't it?_) and pushes harder, enjoying the fire that slowly begins to consume her backbone. "I don't know," she confesses, folding her arms. All her life, she's been told about the importance of body language by her father (_that bastard_), and she knows that hugging her arms to her chest like this, with a defeated expression on her face, only shows a lack of confidence. Quinn Fabray _always _has to be confident. She's been told that a thousand times, by her father, by her mother, by herself. She can't bring herself to care anymore. Everything that made her feel good about herself is gone. "I just thought that… maybe… you'd be the only one who would understand? We're so alike," she adds desperately.

"How?" Rachel says, but her voice is dead, uncaring, bitter. It scares Quinn a little bit. She's never heard the self-absorbed diva like this… she's never heard _anyone _like this. Grief can be terrifying on people, she knows, but this is worse than that.

"W-well, I mean, we both were kind of in love with him, we both cheated on Finn with him… I want things _so bad _and so do you, you're just more intense about it… we're almost the same person, really."

"Really?" Rachel shouts, so angry and resentful that Quinn subconsciously takes a step back. "We're _so much alike, _is that what you're saying? I have never slushied anyone with intentions of malice. I have _never _attempted to make anyone feel terrible about themselves. I have _never _fed off of my comrades' pain the way that you do! I have _never _made someone want to die… I hope not." The last part comes out as a whisper, and, in typical Rachel Berry fashion, she starts to storm off, wiping angry tears from her cheeks.

"Wait! Berry –"

"_Don't call me that!_" Rachel screams, whirling around and seething. Her face is bright red and she's sobbing freely now, and it only takes Quinn a second to realize her mistake.

"Sorry… Rachel. Please. I'm just… so scared, that this was my fault, that he… he killed himself because of me, because of Beth… because I was so horrible to him about the whole thing. God, did I do this?" Quinn squeaks.

Rachel stomps forward and slaps Quinn across the face.

"Don't be so _selfish_," she snarls. "Don't try to make this yet another situation starring _Quinn Fabray_, and no one else, because this isn't about you, you – you – bitch!"

And her words are like a knife to the chest, and Quinn watches as Rachel sprints away.

* * *

"Finn!"

Finn turns around slowly, still rendered immobile by the devastating news that keeps ringing in his ears like an overplayed song on the radio: _Puck tried to kill himself Puck tried to kill himself Puck tried to kill himself. _Mike is running to catch up with him, looking completely pissed off, but who doesn't? Finn and Mike are friends. So he just assumes that Mike wants to… talk about this, or whatever. (Puck would fucking hate that. He was never big into feelings and talking and shit.)

That's why Finn is completely unprepared when Mike's fist collides with his eye.

"Ow! What the hell, man?" Finn yells. Mike swings again, this time catching Finn in the stomach and knocking him over. Tina starts crying; Mercedes screams; Sam runs into the school. Finn fights back, kicking Mike's knee and throwing his fists everywhere. He's never been the best at defensive fighting – when he initiates it, he does okay, but when Finn is attacked, he's reduced to flailing and hoping that his hits meet their target. A crushing blow makes Finn's nose start to bleed. The blood tastes _normal_, like _fighting, _like _every day high school drama._ He smiles, because this is an opportunity to forget, and when he punches Mike, he pretends that it's Puck that he's hitting.

"Stop!" a voice calls, and suddenly Mr. Schue is pulling Mike off of Finn and Sam is helping Finn to his feet. A black eye is already starting to form on Mike's face, and Finn can feel the blood rolling from his chin onto his polo shirt. He spits and glowers at Mike challengingly. The other boy fights to escape Mr. Schue's grip.

"He was your best friend! Your best friend. Why the fuck didn't you know that something was going on?" Mike roars.

"Why didn't you?" Finn answers loudly. "You were friends too!"

"Guys, come on," Mr. Schue pleads. "None of us knew this was going to happen."

"He should have," Mike says. He shakes Mr. Schue off and walks away, Tina running after him.

"Finn, it's not your fault," Sam says, offering him a tissue. Most of the glee kids are standing around in awe, shocked beyond words that the normally quiet, gentle Mike could have jumped Finn like this.

"I _know_," Finn insists, then, "God, why did he have to _do _this to me? He got my girlfriend pregnant, Rachel cheated on me with _him… _he'd already ruined my life enough! Why this? Why now?"

When no one could answer, Finn got into his car and drove off, only making it a mile before having to pull over and weep into the steering wheel.

_This is only the beginning._


	2. Five Days After

**Author's Note: **Wow, I'm _so _sorry that it took me so long to update. Between volleyball, school, and friends, I've barely had time to breathe, let alone write. I'll try to get the next chapter out sooner, but no promises. I hope you like this chapter. It's mostly about the glee kids themselves, instead of Puck. Next chapter will be about Puck, if I go with what I'm planning. Please leave a review, and thanks for all of your feedback!

* * *

The doorbell rings, but Finn doesn't want to answer it. He's _so tired_ – he hasn't slept in days, not ever since Mike blamed him for what Puck did. And it's true, it's so fucking true that he can't close his eyes at night because of it, and now they're all bloodshot and his skin is blotchy and he's curled up on the couch with a carton of ice cream and he's such a fucking _girl._

Puck, Puck would hate that. He would hate that. He would call him a pussy and tell him to get laid. But Finn doesn't want to get laid; Finn doesn't even want to move. The doorbell rings again, causing him to jump and drop his spoon into the sticky container. He eyes it disdainfully and wonders if he can use telekinesis to get it out. After concluding that he doesn't have mind superpowers, Finn sighs in defeat and abandons the comfort food on the couch as he shuffles towards the door. He swings it wide –

- and something _jumps _on him, leaps up and wraps its arms around his neck.

Finn yells, trying to push away his attacker, and then he realizes that it's human. His step-brother pulls away, shoulders shaking and tears of mirth in his eyes, but there's something not right about him. His skin is paler and rougher than usual – is that a _zit_? – and his current tears accompany stained tracks of old ones. Finn groans. "God, Kurt, we didn't want to _worry _you or anything."

Suddenly all traces of humor have dissipated, and the countertenor's expression settles into a frosty glare. "_Worry _me?" he screeches. "Were you planning on informing me of this situation at all, or were you perfectly willing to let me remain ignorant of the ill fate one of my acquaintances has encountered?"

Finn hates pissing off Kurt – he's just like Rachel. Whenever the divas are angry, they suddenly start spouting off thousands of words that Finn doesn't know, and it makes calming them down so much harder. He never knows what to say, because he never knows what _they're _saying. "Uh, no?" he guesses. "I mean, dude, we were gonna tell you, but we were waiting until you came home for the weekend. That way, you wouldn't have to worry about it this week, you know?"

Kurt looks like he's about to go off on another rant, but then a voice intrudes. "Can I come in?"

Finn glances to the side and catches sight of a short boy with dark hair. "Oh… you're Blaine, right?"

"Yeah."

"Kurt's told me tons about you… yeah, come on in, man."

Finn steps back and allows the two to enter the house. He offers Blaine a tentative smile (the first one, even fake, that he's given in days), and Blaine accepts with a brief grin before going back to gnawing on his lip. The boy is obviously nervous, and Finn likes that he can intimidate Kurt's boyfriends; it's part of being a big brother (except Kurt's older than him, but details, details) and Finn kind of loves the feeling.

Burt chooses that moment to jog down the stairs, and he freezes when he sees the people gathered by the front door. "Kurt!" he exclaims. "But… wait… you're not supposed to –"

"Rachel told me, Dad," Kurt says. His shoulders are relaxed and the anger has died from his eyes at the sight of his father. Now he just seems exhausted and sad. Finn has the urge to comfort Kurt but, having no idea how, simply stands still.

Kurt and Burt share a brief hug, and Finn can tell that the latter is close to tears. Burt's eyes narrow when he sees Blaine, but he seems to sense that now isn't the time for an interrogation, and his gaze softens when Kurt drifts back and Blaine is quick to squeeze the diva's hand soothingly. "Make yourself at home," Burt says. "Carole's at the store now, because we're pretty much out of food, but there's some KFC left over."

Kurt huffs and rolls his eyes. "Dad, what have I told you about greasy foods? Aside from the havoc they will wreak on your complexion, they are highly detrimental to your health. And… and I can't…" His eyes overflow with water, and he shakily murmurs, "I can't d-deal with death again, Dad… I c-can't lose you."

Burt and Finn both move to wrap their arms around the boy at the same time. Blaine releases his grip on Kurt's hand and hovers back awkwardly, staring at his boyfriend and his boyfriend's family with a mix of awe and discomfort. Noticing this, Finn nods to him. "Come on," Finn says. "You can join in."

And Blaine strides over and completes the group hug, and they draw security from each other. For once, for now, everything feels right.

(Never mind the ghost in the room, the one hanging over all of their shoulders, the one whispering "could have" and "should have" and "didn't".)

* * *

_**Five Days After**_

_**

* * *

**_

The day the grief counselors visit is also the day they're told that Puck didn't make it.

At first, Santana wonders why she doesn't feel anything when the news is broken to them, but then she realizes: she's been mentally preparing herself for this ever since learning of her best friend's attempted suicide. It should hit her like a semi-truck, but instead, it gives her a strange desire to laugh. And that's when she thinks that maybe she's had too much bad news in her life.

Noah Puckerman was officially declared dead at 1:57 pm on Tuesday, April 19th. They haven't sung since Wednesday afternoon, but everyone goes to glee, simply because it's normal. It's routine. If everything feels normal, then maybe, somehow, they'll keep it together.

Schue tells them (déjà vu much?) at the very beginning of practice. Berry loses her shit and the waterworks appear instantly. Mercedes and Quinn are unabashedly bawling their eyes out, while the rest of them are trying to be strong but miserably failing. Brittany pokes Santana in the shoulder. "San," the blonde murmurs, appearing thoroughly confused. "I thought that Puck was just asleep. But now Mr. Schue is saying that he's gone. How did that happen?" She frowns. "I think that maybe my cat might have stolen him."

Despite herself, Santana laughs. "What the hell?"

"He read my diary and saw that Puck was sleeping, and he doesn't like Puck. He's scared of him."

The cheerleader shakes her head and tucks a fallen lock of dark brown hair behind her ear. "No, Brittany. It wasn't your cat," she says, proud of her strong, unwavering voice. "Puck… he's dead, Britt. He did it to himself."

Brittany's brow furrows. "Did what to himself?" she asks.

"He made himself dead. You know what dead is, right, Britt?" Santana is usually good at explaining these kinds of things to Brittany, but she's not sure that she can explain this one. How _can s_he, when it encompasses so much grief and mystery that no one can really understand it, least of all a teenager?

"Yeah. It means gone for good. Like, never coming back. Right?"

"Right," Santana confirms. A heartbeat passes, with Brittany still staring at Santana naively, and then the blonde starts in with sobs that make snot run down her lips. She wipes the mess away with her sleeve and sniffs before breaking into more tears. Santana wrinkles her nose in disgust and turns away (_is no one as strong as she is?_), focusing on the front of the room. Unbeknownst to the grieving glee club members, some adults have slipped through the doors, black bags dangling from their shoulders. One of the men is _smoking _hot. Santana allows her Cheerios skirt to ride up a little bit and smirks at the man invitingly. He seems confused for a second but then turns away, shaking his head. Her grin fades a little at his rejection, but she clears the hurt away and resumes her confident pose.

"Guys?" Schue tries, in a feeble attempt to restore order. "Guys, Miss Pillsbury thought it would be a good idea to bring in some grief counselors. So instead of glee today, you're going to be working with them, okay?"

Santana snorts loudly. Schue has always lived in some fantasy world, but he's on something if he thinks that anyone is actually going to _cooperate _with these people. Not now. That would require effort that no one in the glee club has to give.

She stares derisively at the counselors, who are clearing their throats and waiting to begin. This is going to be boring. Santana stretches out like a cat, putting her feet up on another chair, and tugs on her typical mask; a glare, with a side of impatience and, specifically for today, a touch of sadness. But, no matter how hard she tries, a tiny bit of her real self shines through: the blankness she is experiencing, and a trace of guilt, because she should feel something, but she feels nothing. Nothing at all.

* * *

"Okay, everyone, can we form a circle, please? Just like that," one of the counselors says as the glee kids rearrange their chairs. She pulls up a seat for herself and straddles it, elbows resting on its back as she eyes the children. "My name is Mackey. It's short for Mackenzie. I'm here to help, and so are Lissa, Harry, and Stephen." As she says each of their names, she gestures towards the adults. They smile at the kids; a few, like Rachel and Mike, manage to nod in greeting. Most, however, pay no attention to them.

Kurt chokes a little, willing his tears to subside. He leans into Blaine, who protectively pulls him closer, as though he can shield Kurt from the despair in the room. It's a fruitless effort, because the diva can acutely feel all of the pain surrounding him – everyone else's agony stabs him in the heart with as much vigor as his own. And he didn't even _like _Puck. Not at the beginning. Puck ruined his designer clothes by throwing him into the dumpster everyday – thousands of dollars gone to waste, all because of a moronic bully who had nothing better to do than torture helpless victims. But then there was glee, and everything changed, and now – now everything's changed again.

When Kurt used to picture a suicide, it wasn't Puck's. It was _his_. He imagined the entire glee club crying over _him, _wishing they'd done something to change his mind. Flowers would be carefully placed on the steps of the school by _his _picture. And Karofsky would feel _so damn guilty, _and in Kurt's suicide note he would include the full details of what the jock had done to him. Everyone would _hate _him, and Karofsky would hate himself for the rest of his life. Kurt's funeral would be amazing – Rachel would sing a song for him, and everyone would finally show that they cared.

He never expected _this_.

"Okay, guys, to start us off, I want you to tell the group when you felt like this – or even something _close _to this. Putting a value on pain, even though it might seem impossible, helps it to feel less crushing." Mackey stops and thinks for a minute. "Also, sharing something so deeply personal may help you bond as a group, and that isn't a bad thing right now."

"We're bonded enough," Quinn says quietly.

"No, we're not," Rachel retorts, fuming. The glee club waits for her to commence her latest rant, but she simply leaves it at that and folds her arms, sinking back into the chair. Kurt wants to go to her, but he likes being in Blaine's embrace, and he's not sure that he has the strength to give that up right now – not even for his fellow diva. She seems offended and distraught, which is to be expected, he thinks. It's not like he's never dealt with death before – it's just, this is _suicide_. And that's so much different than just death. He loves his mom _so much_, but it feels like what happened to her was easier to accept than what happened to Puck. Kurt's mother died because she was sick. Puck died because – well, Kurt supposes he was sick; it was just a different kind of sickness. Most diseases kill by rendering the body useless. Puck's – well, Puck's killed by forcing him to swallow pills. And for some reason, that hurts even more.

Mackey stares at each of them meaningfully (it's just a _little _creepy) before taking a deep breath. "Okay, who wants to go first?"

"I do," Kurt offers, raising his hand. It's easier for him to go first – everyone already knows what he's going to say. Blaine releases him, and he struggles to sit up straight. "I felt this kind of pain when my mother died." Lissa blinks sympathetically in Kurt's direction, and he wants to roll his eyes, she's so fake. "It was a very long time ago, but I still remember it like it was yesterday. The denial, the pain, and finally the acceptance. The only difference is that… last time, there was no shock factor. This time, I can honestly say that I couldn't have possibly been more surprised." The rest of the group appears somewhat satisfied with this, and they wait for one of the counselors to choose someone else. Then Blaine elbows Kurt, and he notices Rachel staring at him. And he sighs. "Fine. There's something else, too."

Blaine half-smiles at him, to give him courage. He can't tell if it works or not. "When I decided to transfer from here, I did it because I was in crippling pain. The constant bullying was getting to my head, and something – something happened." During his monologue, he never allows his gaze to stray from Blaine's eyes. "I – I was kissed by someone, against my will. And that doesn't sound important, I guess, but it was. Shortly thereafter, the bullying carried an almost sexual undertone, and I was scared." He hesitates. "That was when I considered taking my own life."

It's not so much a gasp as a sharp intake of breath that floods the room; it's the sound a person makes after being punched in the stomach. "You don't have to worry about me," Kurt hastens to add. "I'm fine now. I'm _happy. _Well… I was before this happened." Tears silently streak down his face. "I'm sorry, _I'm so sorry _that I even considered this. Please… forgive me."

No one knows what to do for a minute; and then Rachel sprints over and hugs Kurt, so tightly that he can almost feel his ribcage breaking. Blaine joins her, and then everyone, save Santana and Mr. Schue (who looks sad, but mostly uncomfortable), is giving Kurt a giant group hug. And they're all crying, and they're all mumbling words he can't understand, but Kurt feels something, a warm bubble that is slowly consuming him.

And he thinks maybe, just maybe, that's _hope._

_

* * *

_

Blaine volunteers to go next, desperate as he is to be accepted into Kurt's group of friends. It's probably not the time to worry about that, but he can't help it. As suave as he appears on the surface, years of bullying have rendered him insecure and anxious, although he does a good job of hiding it. "Well," he says, wondering where to begin. "Well, I'm not as affected by this as all of you. I'm here as more of a support system, to be honest. I didn't know Puck. But from the sound of it… how he changed… I wish I had. I've encountered suicide before... it was my brother's. I was ten, and he came out to my parents. When they told him to get out, he went to gather his things. The next thing we knew, there was a gunshot, and he was collapsed on the floor with half of his head gone." He takes a deep, shuddering breath, proud of how dry his eyes are. "It was the worst thing that ever happened to me. He was my role model, and all of a sudden, he was gone. The only good thing to come of it was that I wasn't as scared to come out to my parents anymore, because I didn't think they'd risk that happening again, but the second I told my dad that I was gay, he kicked me out. So… I guess what I'm trying to say is, I know how it feels. And I'm really, really sorry that this is happening."

Kurt is horrorstruck (maybe Blaine should have told him all of this before, but it was never the right time) and then Kurt is hugging him. And the rest of the club doesn't jump up to be by his side, like they did for Kurt, but most of them are doing their best to send him reassuring smiles.

He thinks that that's enough.

* * *

No one really wants to go next, so Mackey calls on Brittany.

She doesn't really understand what's going on, and she would be the first to admit that. All she knows is that Puck isn't here anymore, and that makes her heart feel funny. Puck _needs _to be here. It isn't glee club without him, somehow. It wouldn't be glee if they were without any one of the people in this circle.

Is it still glee, now?

"I don't know," she says softly. "I don't think I've felt this way before. I don't remember anyone being gone from my life."

"It doesn't have to be that," says Stephen. "It can be any time that you felt bad, no matter how important or unimportant it seems."

"Oh," Brittany says. "I feel bad… when Santana cries. It makes me want to cry too."

Every head in the room turns towards Santana, who glares and haughtily counters, "I don't _cry_. Brittany's just confused, like fucking always."

Hurt, the blonde lowers her gaze. "You cry sometimes," she defends herself. "Like when we were little. Twelve, I think. You cried really, really hard."

Santana's cheeks color, and she stands up so fast that her chair flies backwards. "I did _not,_" she insists. "This is bullshit! Why are we even talking about this kind of stuff? It just brings up bad memories. It just makes us feel fucking _worse _about this whole thing, all right? We don't _need _to be 'bonded', or whatever shit you call it. It works better when we're not." She moves to walk out of the room.

"Sit down, Santana!" Mr. Schue orders. Brittany glances over at him for the first time – she'd kind of forgotten that he was there. There are tears in his eyes, too. She wonders, suddenly, why he didn't stop this. He's supposed to be the teacher, after all. Isn't he meant to care about them most of all? Santana rolls her eyes and plops back into her seat, crossing her arms across her chest.

"I'm sorry, San," Brittany tries. The other girl just scowls.

* * *

It's slightly awkward after that. Finn raises his hand, hoping to just get it over with. He doesn't care what the counselors say – this isn't helping anything at all. "Okay," he says. "I felt like this when… well, I've felt like this before." They're going around in a circle talking about _feelings. _If they wanted to respect Puck, they'd shut the hell up right now. Puck wouldn't want this. If he were here, he'd be laughing at all of them.

And then Finn thinks of everything that Puck could have talked about, in this kind of situation, and he realizes: maybe not.

"Um… I guess the first time I felt like this was when I figured out that I'd never get to know my dad. Puck… Puck had a dad, and he was pretty cool. He was kind of like _my _dad for a while, you know? I spent so much time over there. And then, when we were seven, Puck's dad just walked out and we never saw him again. I know that Puck felt worse than I did, but it hurt me too. I mean, now I'd lost two dads, one I never knew, and one I thought I did.

"And after that… well, I like to think that I led a pretty good life. But then, when I found out Quinn was pregnant, I thought that was gonna be the worst thing that could ever happen to me, 'cause it was gonna keep me stuck in Lima for the rest of my life. But Rachel told me that Puck was the father, and he was my best friend, and she was my _girlfriend_… I was so betrayed. I felt like… I don't know, like I was losing everything that mattered to me or something." He tries not to look over at Quinn, who is silently weeping in the corner, but he can't help it. "Eventually, I got over it. And then Puck had to go and kill himself. This is the absolute _worst _I have ever felt. I mean, shit happens, you know? But suicide doesn't just happen. Suicide… Puck _made _it happen." Finn's throat closes over and he can't say any more.

"I – I'm the same as Finn," Quinn mumbles, shaky and downcast. Sam throws an arm over her shoulders and hugs her close to him as she breaks. "I had a good life, like him. I had _too _good of a life. I took it all for granted… and I'm so ashamed; I did so many things that I regret. I still _do _so many things that I regret, I just can't help it… I lied to Finn. I was kicked out of my house. I had to give up my baby." She curls deeper into Sam's chest. Finn gets the impression that she's trying to hide. "I'm sorry, I'm not very good at handling this… I'm not very good at handling anything. Because you know what hurt so much worse than all of those things combined? _Thinking _about them. And the guilt, the crushing, crushing guilt… it made me crazy." She stops, thinking about something, and then she abruptly sits up and pulls down the sleeves of her Cheerio uniform.

This time there _is _a gasp, a huge, collective one, because no one can believe their eyes. Finn's heard about this before, but he could never understand why anyone would do that to themselves. He doesn't understand how _Quinn _could do this.

On her arms, there are bright red railroad cracks of cuts.

She bursts into noisy tears and covers up her secret. "It hurt _so much… _this was the only way I could let it out… I needed to hurt on the outside, I hurt so bad on the inside, I needed evidence that I was so screwed up… God. God, I know it's a sin… I just… I'm going to Hell anyway, so why not?" Quinn whispers. Sam is leaning away from her, eyes searching for answers. Meanwhile, Finn just wants to go to her, even if he's barely talked to her for a year now. He needs her to not do this anymore. He needs her to be happy again, even if he's not sure why; she's a bitch. She's been a bitch for years. But somewhere deep inside him, he's always been a little bit in love with her, and he can't stand the thought of her taking a knife to her skin.

"You're not going to Hell, Quinn," Mercedes says. It's the first time that she's spoken since Puck's death. She slowly strides over to the cheerleader and envelopes her in a hug; Quinn crumbles in her embrace. "God forgives. You should know that better than anyone. And we forgive, too. Right, guys?" she calls over her shoulder. A reluctant agreement rises up. "You're okay, Quinn. You don't need to do that to feel happy. You have us."

Quinn nods and tries to smile, biting her lip. "I'm sorry for everything I've done. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." She keeps going on like that for a while, murmuring incoherently, Mercedes rubbing her back and trying to get her friend to be quiet.

No one talks for a while. Mackey dabs at her eyes with a tissue; Mr. Schue is horrified; Finn wonders how no one ever noticed how much the glee club was breaking. He knew everyone had their problems.

He just never knew what happened to them because of it.

* * *

After that, the tension breaks, and everyone spills out a story. Mike talks about how hard it was to find a place where he could be himself; even on the football team, he was a little bit of an outcast, and he became even more of one after joining the glee club. But it didn't matter, because he had finally found that place. Then, his best friend Matt transferred and his baby sister drowned within days of each other, and he wasn't sure how to go on from there. Then he found Tina.

Tina stands up, the most confident she's ever been, and tells them about how, when she was little, her father used to abuse her. He told her that she couldn't tell or he would kill her, so gradually, she stopped talking. Eventually her mother figured it out and kicked him out of the house (he wasn't sent to jail, because there wasn't enough evidence against him). Tina's social anxiety showed up right about then; it was more than just fear, it was a crippling disability that wouldn't allow her to have any friends at all. She stayed at home most nights, traumatized by memories. At last, she began to see a therapist, and she met Artie, her first best friend. Because of glee, things kept getting better and better for her. Tina discovered her voice again.

Artie discusses his struggles in the chair, and the PTSD he encountered after the accident. Sometimes he would have nightmares about the crash and wake up screaming; sometimes he couldn't find the willpower to move. Over the course of nine years, he learned to accept himself, wheelchair and all.

Will just sits there, wondering how the hell all of this went over his head.

* * *

Sam doesn't really _want _to talk. He's still the new kid, and he doesn't want anyone's opinions of him to be damaged by his confession. "Uh," he says, uncomfortably. "Well, I kind of have… anorexia. But I'm trying to get better, so… yeah."

He takes his seat again, hoping that no one really cares; it wasn't a long, drawn-out, pain-filled speech, after all. But when he looks around, Quinn is crying again, and Finn is stunned. The rest of the club's reactions contain surprise too, and he instantly wants to take back his words – they'll probably hate him now, for being _so weak_, for letting the sickness take control of his body.

Quinn flings herself into his arms. "God, Sam… you're beautiful. Don't let you tell you any different," she manages.

"Yeah, you're one fine looking guy. You don't need this," Mercedes says. "Once, I almost went anorexic too… I wanted to lose weight so badly, so I could be a Cheerio. And it was the _worst_, because before, I always loved me _and _my body. But suddenly I wasn't so sure." She gives him an intent look, eyes piercing. "Don't _ever _think of yourself as less than great, all right?"

He's speechless, so he just nods, holding Quinn tighter. Mercedes smiles at him and sits back down, and he feels light, lighter than air, despite having eaten lunch today.

* * *

Rachel's heart is on fire. She's always gone all-out, for everything, but she isn't sure of that right now. Whatever spills from her mouth will forever be cemented in the ears of her fellow glee club members, and she's always built herself up to be amazing and ambitious; she can't show them how far she's fallen. But she finds herself speaking anyway. "I've always wanted to be a star," she says, voice quiet. She doesn't know how to make it louder. "That dream has directed me ever since I was one. However, the road to stardom has many, many speed bumps. I didn't recognize that when I was younger, and it rapidly became too late to change pathways." She takes a deep breath.

"A slushie was thrown at me on my very first day of high school. By Noah Puckerman. That was the moment I realized that, for some, inexplicable reason, the student body loathed me." Her gaze drops to her feet, and tears prick at the corners of her eyes. "I thought I could get past that, because after graduation, I would be a star, while everyone else would continue their miserable lives in Lima. But… it's hard, really, to not have any friends. Freshman year was hell; I brought a change of clothes every day because I would either be tossed in the dumpster or slushied. However, it was the words that hurt most of all. I thought I was invincible, and insults could not break me; but they did. And there were various homophobic slurs against my dads, and sometimes troublemakers would vandalize our house, and it all just added up. I was breaking.

"When I signed up for glee club, I thought that I would finally have friends who understood me. That fell through as well. Have you ever heard the old adage 'it's lonely at the top'? It is. I didn't know how to get past that.

"I found Finn here, and then I fell for Jesse, but they both broke my heart. As did Noah. And then I found my mother… and she left me. And then Finn broke my heart again, but Noah and I became friends – he was the only one who didn't outright say that he hated me. He used to, but he changed. And now I have Kurt, but he goes to Dalton. And Noah kill – died. And – and – now," she says, bawling freely. "I _still _don't have any friends."

It's silent for a moment, and then Finn says, "You have us. We're your friends."

Rachel laughs bitterly. "Don't lie."

* * *

"Santana?" Schue says. "You still haven't gone yet."

Santana rolls her eyes; is this _really _happening? This is complete and utter bullshit. All of the glee kids are pansies, she thinks – they need to learn to just _deal_, instead of blubbering like a baby every time something little goes wrong. "I don't have anything to share, Mr. Schue," Santana says. "Nothing shitty has ever happened to me."

"Santana –" Mackey tries.

"Fuck you, all right? Just fuck off. The worst thing that ever happened to me, besides this? I was kicked out of the Head Cheerio position because I got a _fucking boob job. _And that's it." She pauses, waits. Because she knows that Puck is going to call her out on her bullshit, any second now. He knows. Of course he knows. He's her best friend.

And then she remembers.

And she can't stop herself from crying.

* * *

"All right, the fucking truth. When I was twelve, my mother died of breast cancer. She was only twenty-nine. And my grandma died of breast cancer when she was thirty-seven. So my dad took me to get tested for the gene or whatever, and they found out that I had the gene for breast cancer, so I had a really high risk of getting it, all right? So. So I got a mastectomy a couple months ago so I'd never get the cancer. _That _was my boob job, okay? _That was my fucking boob job."_

_

* * *

_

When they walk out of the building to go home, no one really knows what to say to each other. So they just nod good-byes before driving away, all of them thinking:

This didn't have to be Puck. This could have been any one of them.

It was only a matter of time.


End file.
